


A Mascot Of Sorts

by thestarsarewinning



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Military, Based on a Tumblr Post, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Getting Together, Kidfic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Soldier!Steve, Superfamily, There’s probably other versions of this as I’m really late to the party ik, but not Steve or Tony, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-08 17:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsarewinning/pseuds/thestarsarewinning
Summary: Dear Soldier,I hope you are doing well. I’m sorry you have to miss the holidays with your family.This is my friend Chester. He keeps me safe from the monsters, like the things my dad builds do, and I think you need him more than me. I hope he keeps you safe too.Take care of him for me.Peter StarkOr, the one where Steve is a soldier, Tony has a kid, and a toy fish is responsible for a lot.





	A Mascot Of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is based on a tumblr post that came across my dash recently - I have no idea how to link to it, so bear with me - and I sort of had to write the AU.
> 
> I'm literally just playing house with the characters, none of them are mine, but I had great fun putting them through the wringer.

The care package was waiting on Steve’s bunk after the day’s training exercises. Its presence wasn’t a surprise, not really. Care packages were donated to soldiers overseas for the holidays, and sometimes Steve or members of his unit were lucky enough to be picked for one.

Really, it was a welcome reminder of the time of year, a welcome reminder that it was Christmas, that back home there would be weather other than endless heat, the never-ending sun that made it difficult to remember the holidays, despite the feeble attempts at hanging decorations around the base.

Three years ago, his first tour out, Steve had been lucky enough to receive one and had opened the box to reveal what he’d been informed by a Dugan he hadn't yet come to know to be ‘the usual stuff’ — baby wipes, crackers, peanut butter, even a pack of cigarettes that Bucky’d claimed. This year’s box contained a similar treasure trove — the basic necessities, a few extra items that made him smile and a note claiming the package had been donated by the Maria Stark Foundation — none of which was anything out of the usual, with the exception of a lone item.

A small package of tissue paper, shrouding a beanie baby goldfish, with a letter folded in.

The fish itself left Steve at a loss for words, and he’d sat down on the edge of his bed to read the letter, carefully clutching the note covered in a child’s wobbly letters.

_Dear Soldier,_

_I hope you are doing well. I’m sorry you have to miss the holidays with your family._

_This is my friend Chester. He keeps me safe from the monsters, like the things my dad builds do, and I think you need him more than me. I hope he keeps you safe too._

_Take care of him for me._

_Peter Stark_

Steve was still sat there when Bucky returned, crowding him instantly, looking through the box and whistling at until he saw the fish and stopped, one eyebrow raised. “Is that-“

“Yep.” Steve’s hands closed over it, over Chester, protectively, and he shrugged at Bucky, silently challenging him. “I lucked out.”

That was enough for Bucky to drop it and he instead snatched the packet of beef jerky out of the box, daring Steve to catch him as he ran. Steve followed if only to reclaim his snack, pocketing the fish as he gave chase.

**

Three months later, and Chester was still there, still hidden into a pocket of Steve’s uniform, though hidden wasn’t really the right term. Everyone, everyone in his unit at least, knew Chester was there, but no one said anything. The note was folded in with the fish, and it made Chester into a sort of good luck charm. Something to remind them what they were doing out there, something to keep them safe out there.

It was wishful thinking, and, on some level, Steve knew that, but it’d become a habit. Grab his gear, cram Chester into a pocket, and join the rest of the Howling Commandos to head out wherever they were needed.

Chester was a mascot of sorts, and Steve couldn’t help but think back to Peter, to the little boy who’d wanted to keep Steve- Who’d wanted to keep a soldier a little bit safer and had given up his friend to do so. The thought of that little boy made Steve want to find a way to get Chester home, back to the kid who surely still needed him.

That thought, the need to get Chester home, was one of the last to cross Steve’s mind as his vision went black, as the vehicle he, Bucky, Dugan, Jones and Dernier had been riding in flipped and possibly caught fire; one of the last thoughts Steve thought he’d have apart from fuck, I can’t move- Bucky, where’s Bucky- Jones was at the wheel-

Apart from the dread and fear and a faint voice that suggested he should keep his eyes open, there was Chester.

**

When he first opened his eyes seventy-two hours after the world went black, Steve didn’t know where he was.

For a terrifying three minutes, he had no idea where he was, what had happened, and any other number of horrifying realisations until he looked over at the cabinet next to his hospital bed and saw the ziplock bag of his personal effects. Well, what was left of them. His dog tags, a uniform, and- And Chester.

Then, before Steve could really begin piecing anything together, a nurse came in, and he was sent back into darkness.

The second time he opened his eyes, he didn’t even get three minutes of consciousness.

**

Six days, eleven hours and thirty-three minutes after the armoured personnel vehicle was hit by an IED, Steve opened his eyes and was allowed to remain in the world of the conscious.

He had questions, the doctors had questions, and there was one awful, horrible moment where no one would tell him what had happened to Bucky, Gabe and the others, a moment where his heart almost stopped before someone, someone managed to give him an answer, one that mostly didn’t leave him feeling like his throat was about to close up.

The doctors left, tight-lipped as to what actually happened, as to what his injuries were, as to anything actually useful, and Steve was alone. Alone, except for the quiet beeping of the machines he was hooked up to and the same ziplock bag of whatever the first hospital had salvaged and the familiar blob of orange. Chester’s presence was comforting, yet also a little disconcerting, given that the small fish was possibly the only familiar thing Steve would get to see.

In the six, nearly seven days he’d been unconscious, he’d apparently been to three different army bases, flown out of Afghanistan after the local field hospital had been unable to do anything else, taken to Germany for emergency surgery, and then flown back to the US. His doctors might not be discussing much else with him, but knowing that was a good indication of how bad things could be.

Especially if they’d flown only him back.

Bucky, Gabe and Dugan had gone as far as Germany and were being kept there, Jones- Jones hadn’t left the field hospital and no one had said if that was a good or bad thing, and Steve didn’t want to know. If it was only him who’d been brought home, it suggested that his injuries were the worst, and that was a whole new ball game.

Alone, uninformed and rapidly giving to exhaustion — the kind that came from not quite dying and too many meds and not really knowing anything — Steve fumbled for the fish, the stupid fish that was still with him and had kept him alive and smelled oddly sterile, grasping it just before his eyes closed and he was ensconced in darkness once again.

**

Two months later, the hospital was a figment of the past. So was active service, and that happened to be something that tore at Steve, but he was home.

Not just urgently-brought-back-to-the-States-for-surgery-and-specialists-home, but released-back-to-the-shitty-apartment-he-kept-in-Brooklyn-home, no longer trapped staring at the same four white walls and held together by stitches, but trapped in a different way.

Trapped taking things slowly, unable to walk up the four flights of stairs to his apartment without feeling winded, unable to raise his left arm above his head without pain, real or phantom, unable to be there for Bucky and Dugan and the others. Not Jones, though. Jones-

Jones had been brought home too.

Steve hadn’t been released from the hospital for the service, but he’d gone to the memorial the second he’d been released. He’d been alone when he went, there’d been no one to go with him, not one but a stuffed toy, a fish belonging to a little boy who’d wanted Steve to take care of his friend, and Steve had, sort of.

He’d taken care of Chester, if not-

He’d taken care of Chester. Apparently, a nurse in Germany had gotten the blood of out the toy, had stitched the fish up and made sure it got sent way with Steve when he was flown to America, and Chester was back to living it up in varying pockets, only now he was crammed in with his wallet and phone and the keys to the apartment he and Bucky shouldn’t have been back to for another three months.

Chester went with Steve when he went to group therapy, too. The note had been irreparably ruined, made bloody and burnt, but every word had been etched into his memory, and he recited it one session, explaining how he’d ended up so protective over some kid’s stuffed toy.

On a good day, Steve could remember the last thing he’d thought of after the IED without the nightmares that came with it. He’d remember the promise he’d made, the want to get the good luck charm back to the kid who’d given it up for a stranger he’d thought needed it more, and that was still something Steve wanted.

Wasn’t like he had much need for a good luck charm anymore.

**

Sam hadn’t liked how Steve had phrased things when he’d sat down and explained the thoughts running through his head, but he’d agreed to help.

That was what Sam did; help.

Technically, Sam Wilson was the counsellor and ex-veteran Steve had been assigned to see weekly after his discharge. Sam Wilson was also a friend.

Currently, he could beat Steve at running laps — and, honestly, all the things Steve struggled with made him feel like he’d regressed fifteen years and was back to being the scrawny twelve-year-old who couldn’t punch his way out of a wet paper bag — and he kept handing him flyers for Art Therapy classes (that Steve kept ignoring because he just couldn’t, not at all) and he liked to remind Steve that the only person he was truly responsible for was himself, but he was still a friend despite all of that, or maybe because of it.

Sam was, however, looking at Steve as though he’d just sent him on a fool’s errand, but the look on his face softened when Steve fished Chester out of his pocket and he’d nodded.

**

“The Maria Stark Foundation probably donated hundreds of care packages, you realise?”

“But how many had letters with actual names?”

The coffee shop Sam had chosen was crowded and cramped, but it had comfy chairs and decent coffee and Steve could argue and glare at Sam with nobody sparing them a second glance.

Sam’s eyebrow was raised, and that could mean so many things. Steve simply sighed. Sam sighed back, only louder. “Shit’s gotta be done carefully. A kid donated a stuffed toy, parents probably weren’t expecting the soldier who got it to show up to give it back.”

“Come on, Sam. And I have a name for you: Peter. Peter Stark. Just help me figure out who the kid is so I can send it back.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose, differently that time, and he snorted into his coffee, looking as though things had just gotten easier and so much harder, all at the same time. “Peter Stark. Peter? You couldn’t put two and two together?”

“Should I have?”

“I’m gonna let it go, given the whole ‘spending four years of your life in the desert’ thing, but you gotta have figured it out? Peter Stark, The Maria Stark Foundation? Tony Stark, the guy who could easily run the world? Peter Stark being the kid Tony Stark has and struggles to stop the whole world all from knowing about?”

“No?” Steve’s expression remained blank.

“Now you’re just playing dumb, seriously man. But this shit just went from mission difficult to mission in-freaking-sanity.”

The put-upon look returned to Sam’s face. It was a look Steve was frequently on the receiving end of, more so than usual recently, but that also meant he knew how best to combat it.

He placed Chester on the table between them.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

**

Three weeks later, Steve entered the lobby of Stark Tower.

Stark Tower had appeared in New York sometime between Steve’s first tour and his return form his second. It…had struck him as ugly, originally, but now he saw it as a change he was still around to see, and he was less inclined to complain.

And it wasn’t so bad, not from the inside.

He’d garnered a few strange looks, entering the skyscraper wearing ill-fitting dress uniform and clutching a stuffed toy fish, but he’d barely noticed them, too busy staring around the building’s entrance. Until then, he hadn’t spared a thought as to what Stark Tower was actually for. There was a Starbucks inside the entrance, security by every door, but it was practically empty inside, and Steve was more confused than anything.

Any reverie he might have sunk into was prematurely interrupted by a red-headed woman who approached him not long after he’d entered. She didn’t seem phased by him at all; not by his presence, the uniform, the fish or the slight air of unkemptness that was caused by the too big quality of his uniform, the gauntness he knew his face had, the stiffness in the way he held himself from his injury.

There was even a smile on her face, polite, professional, but still a smile. “Captain Rogers?”

“Yes. And you must be Ms Potts?”

“Pepper, please.” She glanced down at Chester and her eyes widened. “Oh, wow, you actually have it. No offence, but my assistant gets a call saying someone would like to return a stuffed toy donated…I wasn’t sure if she was serious, or if- You, you understand.”

“Absolutely.” Steve nodded, slightly put at ease, and when she gestured for him to follow her out of the lobby he did, unsure of where they are headed and not sure if he should ask until they were in an elevator.

Pepper’s answer came immediately, despite the fact that he hadn’t actually asked. “Offices on the fiftieth floor. I’ll call Tony, get him to talk to you. It’s his- His domain.”

There were clearly a million questions she’d wanted to ask him, and Steve understood entirely, but she ended up simply staring at him as if she was evaluating him, trying to judge what the hell he was actually doing there, and Steve couldn’t help but wither under her gaze, unsure if it was the outcome she’d wanted or just a side effect.

Her assistant offered coffee and was eventually dispatched to retrieve…Mr Stark and Steve waited, displaying none of the nervous energy he felt, holding Chester in one hand and trying to remember Sam’s spiel from last week’s group session.

He almost jumped to attention when the elevator door’s opened and Tony Stark stepped out, a little boy running circles around him.

**

The sight of a soldier in dress uniform’s not a usual sight, Steve knew that, and so the boy’s reaction — to hide behind Mr Stark — was understandable.

If anything, Steve straightened up more in response, so at attention that his old drill sergeant would finally have been proud, but the alarmed, quizzical look on Mr Stark’s face made Steve hold Chester out and clear his throat nervously. “I- I had hoped to return this. I really hope I’m not wrong, and if you’ve never seen this fish before, I apologise for this whole misunderstanding, but-“

The mention of Chester made the kid reappear, one hand still clutching at Mr Stark’s trousers, though his eyes widened at the sight of Chester, and he darted forward, pulling Tony along with him. Steve knelt down to the kid’s level, holding Chester out. “He brought me home, so I thought I’d better get him home too.”

The kid — Peter, Steve’s brain supplied — hesitantly took Chester from Steve, looking up at him to check that it was okay before he glanced back at Mr Stark, a grin splitting his face. “Daddy, it’s Chester, it’s really him.”

That smile was turned on Steve, replaced by a piercing gaze then another smile. “You brought him home? You got him? In that box me and Pepper made?”

“I did.” Steve’s nod was met with an awed look on Peter’s face and a grave look on Mr Stark’s. He straightened up, adjusting his jacket. “I did.”

The look on Mr Stark’s face was indecipherable, and he picked Peter up before gesturing back towards the lift with a turn of his head. “Why don’t we discuss this more upstairs? Unless Captain-“

“Rogers. Steve, though, it’s just Steve, really.”

“Unless you can’t, Steve?” The question was punctuated by him shifting his hold on his son, and staring pointedly at Steve.

Steve more or less answered the question by following them over to the lift, though he stumbled through an actual answer anyway. “I- Yeah, no, I can. Thank you, Mr Stark.”

“Tony, please. Mr Stark, well he’s now this guy-“ Tony shifted Peter on his hip again, raising an eyebrow at the little boy, who nodded, claiming the name- “Just Tony works fine.”

Steve nodded again, and watched as the elevator continued to rise, struggling with the silence for and grateful when the doors opened into…into the- Into what must be a private penthouse, Tony and Peter’s home, and he followed Tony inside, watching as he set Peter down, and sent him running off down a hallway. “Reintroduce Chester to all his pals, yeah? Give us a minute or two, buddy.”

Once he was satisfied that Peter was out of earshot, Tony let out a sigh. “I never thought I’d see that damn fish again. I hadn’t even wanted to let him send it, just in case he missed it and it was the end of the world one bedtime. Thanks for- For bringing it back.”

“Kinda had to, really.” The shrug was involuntary, and Steve tried to relax, tugging at his uniform collar again. “I really hope it’s not…weird. I just-“

“No, really. It’s fine, Steve. He’ll be thrilled to have Chester back, and to meet the soldier he gave him to, and- And I was already sort of expecting someone to show up, Pepper’s been expecting you, well someone for a few weeks, a Sam Wilson called her assistant’s assistant who sent it on to him, and on to Pep, and well- As I said, I’d been sort of expecting someone, just not-“ Tony’s rambling faltered and he was gesturing inchoately at Steve before realising he’d done so and blushing.

Steve stared for a second, not quite realising what Tony was getting at, and then swallowing when he did. His look of comprehension must have shown on his face because Tony shook his head and kept rambling. “And anyway, it’s nice to know that people actually got the care packages. The foundation’s been sending them for years, but Peter’s really gotten involved and he’s insisted on sending more, though he doesn’t usually send his own toys in them.”

“I’m glad that he did. Chester- I’m stupidly grateful for that fish.“ Steve felt his ears burn and he swallowed, grateful when Tony gestured over to what Steve would have called a living room in anywhere else, but there was just a collection of couches and coffee tables, crowding one corner of the space. One look at Tony made it obvious that he was clearly dying to ask questions, and Steve nodded awkwardly as he sat.

When Tony didn’t actually ask anything, Steve found himself volunteering information. More than he usually shared with anyone, even in group sessions or with Sam. “I was stationed in Afghanistan. Third tour. My best friend is still out there. We enlisted together, did two tours before. I should…I should still be out there. I’ve been back three months.”

The look on Tony’s face became instantly more understanding, and Steve had to work really hard at trying not to assume it was out of pity. It probably was, people often hear Afghanistan and instantly start to pity him, but he’s been working really hard with Sam on overcoming that, and he swallowed a couple of times before saying, “That fish ended up saving my life, and he brought me home. I felt like, like I needed to bring him home, too.”

Steve’s voice had wavered on the last few words and Tony’s hands moved to cover his, a small act of comfort that Steve had missed without knowing it. The contact lasted for only a moment before Tony moved away, a faint red flush appearing along his cheeks, but it made Steve swallow hard, grateful.

They were both saved from having to say anything else by the reappearance of Peter, who came running through with an armful of toys, Chester noticeable among their numbers.

He scrambled up onto the couch next to Tony, dropping the collection of toys into his father’s lap, and Steve had to smile at the sight. Peter held out a small spotted animal that Steve assumed was supposed to be a dog, looking up at him, wide-eyed and pleading as he said, “We were gonna welcome Chester home, but you’ve gotta help, you brought him back, so you’ve gotta join in.”

Tony reached out and gently squeezed his son’s shoulder. “I don’t think he does, Peter. I’m sure you’ve got this without needing Captain Rogers- Without needing Steve to play-“

“Not playing. Chester’s home, it’s important.” Peter’s bottom lip wobbled and he clutched the armful of stuffed toys tighter as he turned back to Steve. “Please? Please, Cap- Mr- Please?”

Steve glanced up at Tony for a moment, hesitating only slightly before he nodded. “It’d be my pleasure.”

**

“You didn’t have to, you know.”

Tony’s voice was quiet as he rejoined Steve in the in the not-quite-living room, where Steve had been invited to wait as Tony tried to persuade Peter to go to bed.

He hadn’t intended to stay so long, but Peter’s…ceremony for Chester had taken longer than expected, and he’d stayed for dinner, and then longer to hear the story of how Peter got Chester, and then it was dark outside and Tony was corralling Peter back to his room and Steve hadn’t intended to stay but somehow had.

He didn’t really know why he was still there, but Tony had invited him to wait, and he had, and now he was sat on one of the couches, trying not to feel so out of place, trying not to stare too hard at Tony, who was nothing like Steve had thought he’d be.

The not-staring thing wasn’t working too well, and he blinked a couple of times as Tony repeated himself. “You didn’t have to, you know.”

Steve didn’t understand. “Didn’t have to what?”

“Stay. Spend the afternoon entertaining Peter. Return that stupid fish. You didn’t have to.” Sitting next to Steve, Tony sighed gently, relaxing back against the cushions as he looked over at Steve, something about his expression curious.

“I wanted to, though.” Steve didn’t elaborate on that, and Tony’s mouth quirked up into a smile.

It was nice to see him smile, Steve thought. And then he thought that he had no business to be thinking such things. Whatever Steve had been expecting Tony Stark to be, the Tony Stark, it wasn’t this. It wasn’t a bad thing, though, even if Steve could imagine what Bucky would say to him, even if Steve knew for sure what Sam would have to say. He liked the smile on Tony’s face and tried not to think too much about that. “I wanted to. Peter’s a brilliant kid, and I’m just glad to have returned Chester. The fact that I got to see him knighted was just a bonus.”

The laugh Tony let out was warm and genuine and was still present in his tone as he said, “You realise he’s gonna want you to come back to play again, right? You’re gonna have to sit through him knighting the rest of them.”

“I can live with that…“ Steve’s words hung in the air, and he swallowed. “I mean- Today’s been- Unexpected. I’d like to repeat it sometime.”

“That can be arranged.” Tony’s smile was softer and Steve couldn’t help but stare. He managed a smile of his own as Tony continued, rambling in full force. “And- It’s not just Peter who wants you to return. I want- Stop me if this totally unreasonable and I’m barking up the wrong tree, and I am fully aware that everything about me says this is a bad idea, so if you say no I completely understand, it’d probably be smart of you, really, but maybe it’s not such a bad idea, you know? I mean- Christ. Would you maybe like to get coffee sometime? With me.”

Steve didn’t even need to think before he answered. “Definitely.”

**

The next time Steve entered Stark tower, he wasn’t in uniform.

He wasn’t met by Pepper, either, but by Tony. A rather frazzled looking Tony, in a suit worn with converse and missing his tie, but he was there, and Steve relaxed just a little at the sight of him.

The smile Tony shot him as he approached was nice, but then again, Steve was beginning to think that all of Tony’s smiles were.

One date, two cups of coffee and a tentative agreement to see Peter later, Tony’s smile had widened, and Steve couldn’t help but feel grateful to be on the receiving end of it, to have Tony’s hand in his as they walked back towards Stark Tower, to Chester.

Also to Sam, but Sam was not what he wanted to be thinking about on a date.

**

The package was waiting for Steve in the centre of the table as he sat down opposite Tony. Its presence wasn’t a surprise, not really. Tony was in the habit of buying him things, little gifts that Steve argued he didn’t need, but they had an agreement that if he was allowed to give Tony the sketches he made in Art Therapy, Tony was allowed to find things he knew Steve would like.

Really, it was sweet. It was incredibly thoughtful, and Steve knew now it was how Tony was — he’d never remember an anniversary or how Steve took his coffee, but he knew when Steve needed a new canvas or notebook or set of acrylics, he’d make a playlist and give Steve a memory stick of songs that he’d never heard but ended up loving — and so he’d learnt to accept them.

Mostly.

So the box waiting for him when he joined Tony on the terrace of the penthouse for a lunch date Peter had set up for them both, with the help of Pepper, he wasn’t surprised. He gave Tony a smile, accompanied by a shake of his head but opened it at Tony’s request. The hasty tissue paper wrapping wasn’t anything out of the usual, but the same couldn’t be said for its contents.

A small stuffed toy fell out onto the table, instantly recognisable as Chester, a small box falling out with him, and Steve paused, staring down for just a moment. Picking up Chester, he glanced at Tony questioningly, not daring to pick up the box but gesturing towards it with a nod of his head. “Is that-“

“Yep.” Tony reached over, picking the box up and setting it flat on the table between them, opening it so that the ring was visible. “I lucked out. Meeting you. God, you’re perfect, Steve, you are, even if your friends are terrifying. I love you so much, so much, and Peter’s been calling you his Dad for months now, and this is what I want for us, if it’s what you want too.”

That was enough for Steve to nod, smile reappearing as he swallowed, trying to find his words. Instead of saying yes, or any of the other thoughts fizzing through him, he ended up holding up Chester and asking, “What’s his role in this?”

That prompted Tony to simultaneously roll his eyes and blush a little, smiling still and leaning over the table towards Steve, serious as he said, “He brought you home-“ Tony’s hands moved to his arm and the side of his chest, unwittingly mirroring where the scars stood out on Steve’s skin- “He brought you home and he brought you here; there’s a lot this little guy is responsible for, Peter and I figured he should a part of this.”

Steve’s hand closed around Chester, once again feeling ridiculously grateful to the stuffed toy, and he shook his head at Tony, reaching in and kissing him as best he could across the table.

When they pulled away, a smile had lit up Tony’s face, and in that moment Steve couldn’t help but think of him as beautiful, even more so than usual.

They were interrupted by the opening of the terrace door, and before Steve knew it, his arms were full of a squirming six-year-old, Peter’s weight in his lap a sign that this had actually happened, an undeniable, heavy and wriggling piece of evidence that Steve was starting to suspect had orchestrated this date with a lot more help and a bigger agenda of that wasn’t just his own.

When he voiced this realisation, Tony grinned at Steve before staring Peter down with a look of mock-intensity as he pressed a finger to his lips.

Peter simply laughed.

After they’d actually eaten, and Peter had done a lot more squirming, shifting from Steve’s lap to Tony’s to his again, they ended up piled into an outdoor sofa, Peter in-between the two of them, Chester held in his lap.

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts?


End file.
